The Colour of Vengeance (29 page)

Pern wiped his blade on the woman's blue tunic and slid it back into its scabbard. Every night was more of the same, every night there were more people willing to throw their lives away in a vain attempt to kill his client. None of them could match a Haarin for either skill or determination.

Another breeze blew across the street carrying with it the scent of the sea and masking the metallic smell of blood, for that Pern was grateful. He took a deep breath, looked up into the sky and sighed it out. He knew he should hurry to catch up with Swift and Leese, they might need him further on but for now he just needed a minute to reflect on the pointless loss of those dead at his feet. They weren't evil people, just fools who didn't know any better. Fools being paid money to throw themselves on his sword. A waste of life.

A scuff of leather on dirt warned Pern of another pirate. He whirled, hand on sword hilt, ducking into a combat ready crouch.

“You won't need that. I've no intention of fighting you,” Kessick said from the shadows. “I just want to talk.”

Pern did not take his hand from his sword. “Talking to me will gain you nothing. I have no influence over Swift's actions. I am Haarin,” Pern responded in a calm voice.

The sound of metal scraping against metal drifted into earshot. Pern knew it could be Swift, he should be there protecting his client. If Swift should die… Pern would have no choice.

“I don't need you to influence him,” Kessick said, taking a step out of the shadows toward Pern who in turn took a step backwards. He was confident in his own abilities but he had heard Arbiters used magic and, though he'd never seen it, he wasn't looking to test his own skills against one.

A scream punctuated the night from somewhere nearby. Chade had become a mess. The guards no longer patrolled the streets. The merchants only gathered now at the markets or the docks and the latter mostly because they were fleeing the city. The residents of Chade had been turned into meek shadows, hiding in their homes from the open war on the streets.

Even the Goldtown quarter was no longer safe from the violence. The richer citizens cowered behind their walls and their guards but that did nothing to stop the fighting on the streets, did nothing to stop the dying.

For two weeks the city of Chade had been like this. A fortnight ago Swift had started bringing in mercenaries. Three weeks ago his assassin had failed to kill Kessick.

“Your master betrayed me,” Kessick was saying.

“You knew he would,” Pern said, his eyes flicked about checking for more danger but the ex-Arbiter was alone and seemingly unarmed.

The assassin had failed and Kessick had sent the man's head back to Swift in a box. A warning.

“True,” Kessick said, taking another step forward, stepping over one of the pirate corpses, “but I never expected him to succeed.”

Swift had laughed when he took the head out of the box, laughed and claimed it to be the best investment he'd ever made, claimed it had returned its cost tenfold. It was then Pern had learned the assassin had two jobs; he was to kill Kessick only after shadowing him and finding where the ex-Arbiter kept H'ost's fortune. The assassin had succeeded in half of his contract.

“I need you to deliver a message to your master,” Kessick said.

“It is not my job to deliver messages. I am...”

“You will tell Swift that I do not care about the money. He can keep it, all of it. Tell him I need more people. More just like the last.”

Kessick took another step forward and stopped. Pern tensed, his right hand on his sword hilt, his left on the scabbard. The blade slid an inch out of its sheath.

“Tell him that, Haarin Pern Suzku. Tell him if he respects my request he may yet survive this,” Kessick opened his arms wide to indicate the city around them, “mess he has created.”

For the first time Pern sensed something other than danger and control in Kessick's aura; he sensed desperation.

“He will not listen,” Pern said.

Kessick turned and walked away back into the shadows.

Jacob gripped the wraith’s neck in his right hand and squeezed. He imagined the thing would be surprised if it was aware but Jacob knew better. The creature clawed at his arm, attempting to free itself, tearing strips from his coat but its attacks could not penetrate Jacob’s armour, it could not penetrate his faith.

He tightened his grip and the wraith renewed its attack. Cold began to seep into Jacob’s skin, into his muscles, into his very bones. He could feel his tattoos tingling with the wonderful chill. His senses savoured every moment of the feeling. Then he crushed the wraith’s neck.

The creature vanished in a wisp of grey mist. It was never really there after all. Wraiths were nothing, made from violent emotion given form by the magic that had dug its way deep into the earth. The fog was nothing more than a soup where those emotions could coalesce and manifest and take form; seeking comfort by sucking the life from those more fortunate.

Jacob looked at his hand and watched the mist swirl around his fingers. Warmth started flooding back into his extremities and he found he missed the chill. Cold was such a sharp and vivid feeling. Too much cold could kill but a little bit helped clear the mind and provide clarity.

Another of the poor, soulless creatures floated out of the fog towards him. Jacob reached out to it eager to experience once more the cold of its touch.

Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaasssssssssssssssee

Jacob froze.

The wraith glided towards him and wrapped its arms around him, draped its body over his. Its cold, dead face hovered mere just inches from his own, its mouth open as it sucked the warmth from Jacob’s body but he didn’t move. He was lost in a memory.

Sarah lay on the floor whispering “Please,” at Jacob.

He had just come home from completing the experiment. Arbiter Fields and Arbiter Kessick had made their examinations and determined it had been a resounding success. Jacob had not only survived, he was unharmed and whole. Better than just whole, he was stronger, faster and more alert than ever before. His senses were so finely attuned, so focused that the world seemed an entirely new creation so much more beautiful than before. Colours were brighter and more nuanced. Sounds were deeper and richer. His sense of touch was so much more complete than it had ever been. He couldn’t wait to go home, to see Sarah, to hear her, to feel her, to experience her with all this new depth.

Sarah lay on the floor with bottomless love in her eyes, whispering “Please,” at Jacob.

Their house was located in the richer area of Sarth. Not many Arbiters were allowed to live in their own house outside the compound but Jacob had always been a special case. He was rich and beyond rich, brother to a king and one of the most powerful Arbiters the Inquisition had seen since the Grand Inquisitor himself.

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Jacob’s heart sped at the sight of her and he felt every beat. She rushed to him and they embraced. She cried into his shoulder, so relieved that he wasn’t dead, and kissed every inch of his face.

Sarah lay on the floor with bottomless love in her eyes, covered in blood, whispering “Please,” at Jacob.

They made love right there against the door to their house and again in their bedroom. Afterwards Jacob watched her doze, etched every angle and turn of her face into his memory. He remembered every freckle and every loose strand of hair, even how her lips parted as she slept, the little sigh of the perfectly content.

After she woke Sarah took up her flute. She always loved to play and never more so than for Jacob. As she blew that first note he felt something tugging inside, something he couldn’t explain, and something he fought with every ounce of will power he could muster. Sarah continued oblivious and the tugging turned into a wrenching, an indomitable pull he couldn’t fight. Even after she realised something was wrong and stopped it was too late. The music was already in his head.

Sarah lay on the floor with bottomless love in her eyes, covered in blood, whispering “Please,” at Jacob. His hands, painted red, around her neck, squeezing slowly, watching the light fade from her eyes.

Something snapped inside of Jacob that night, something he could never fix, something he didn’t want to fix. As long as he was broken he would never have to face what he had done.

Cold didn’t begin to describe it. Numb didn’t exist for Jacob. He felt every bit of the cold. It was around him, in him, it was all he could feel. The wraith was still draped around his body, hissing and purring at him. Hungry eyes begging him to join it in its eternal torment.

Jacob’s arm twitched to life and he seized the creature’s face in his right hand and started pushing. It clawed, scraped and scratched, trying to inflict any injury it could but the wraith was a creature of heresy and Jacob’s armour of faith was too strong. He flexed his fingers and the wraith wailed just before its skull collapsed in Jacob’s hand. The wraith’s body faded into mist and it was gone.

When he looked up Jacob could see them all around him. He counted eighteen of the pitiful, wretched creatures. They encircled him, floating in the fog, hissing, wailing, and pleading. Then, as one, they simply faded away into the mist. Even the soulless dead knew when they were beaten.

Jacob shivered. He could still feel the cold but it was fleeting as warmth was flooding back into his limbs. He set his eyes on the faint silhouette on the horizon and started walking.

“Bloody strangers,” the old man said from his stool. “Always gotta arrive on my watch. Make my life a right chore they do.”

Jacob fixed the old man with a stare but he just snorted and threw another stick on the small fire he had by his feet. A black iron kettle was suspended above the fire and a trickle of steam leaked from its spout. Jacob watched as the old man slipped on a glove, took hold of the kettle and poured some of the brown liquid within into a pewter mug. He then proffered the mug to Jacob.

Taking the mug he gave the liquid inside a sniff. “A blend of tea. Bitter. A stimulant.”

The old man snorted out a laugh and shook his head. “Bloody tourists.”

Jacob took a sip and revelled in the burning sensation on his tongue. Heat was an even better sensation than cold with the way it snapped the mind into sharp focus. “How do you stand it here?” he asked the old man. “There is no colour.” Maybe it was the run in with the wraiths or maybe the shocking kindness of the old man but Jacob was feeling more lucid than he had in a long time.

“Aye. You ain’t wrong,” the old man said in a sad voice. “Pretty much all grey here. Makes hidin’ easier though.”

“Yes. I suppose it does.”

The old man looked Jacob up and down. His eyes narrowing as if truly seeing him for the first time. “Somethin’ tells me you ain’t here ta hide.”

Jacob shook his head. “I’m looking for someone. A man. He is tall, bald or close to it, a burn on his face and a patch over his left eye.”

“The Black Thorn?” the old man asked.

“Yes. You’ve seen him?”

The old man nodded slowly. “Came this way not more than a ten-day ago. Caused a fair stir whiles he was here but then at least he didn’t burn the place to the ground. Heard he has a habit of doing that.”

“Is he still here?” Jacob asked a note of excitement creeping into his voice.

“Him an’ his crew had a word with the gov’ner. Then they all packed up an’ left. Took the gov’ner, his wife an’ a score of soldiers with him.”

Jacob finished the mug of tea and handed back to the old man. It dawned on him he could hear no music, had not heard any since entering this fog. No colour, no music. The Fade truly was a dreary place. A place that would likely drive Jacob mad if had to stay there.

“Do you know where they were headed?” he asked.

The old man studied Jacob for a while, his eyes lingering on the coat. “Heard they were headin’ ta Chade by way of Port Mercy to the south.”

Jacob smiled and thanked the old man.

“You an Arbiter?”

Jacob shook his head. “I’m a Templar.”

“What is it?” Pern asked as he turned the small green gem over in his hand and gave it closer scrutiny.

“Ya know, I’m not entirely certain my own self,” Swift responded. “Kessick gave me three o’ them a whiles back. They glow around people, some people anyways.”

Leese snorted. “Glowin’ stones gotta be a worth a bit or two. Sell it, I say.” Leese was becoming more and more useful to Swift; it was rare she was out of his sight these days.

“Good job I didn’t ask fer ya opinion then, ain’t it,” Swift rebuked her. “I got more than enough bits these days. Fancy these stones are useful in giving that fuck, Kessick what he needs.”

Pern had delivered Kessick’s message to Swift just as he had asked and at first Swift’s reaction had been predictable. He had cursed and promised to kill Kessick in the most painful way possible including fire, a bunch of scarab beetles and the ex-Arbiter’s stones. Later Swift had reconsidered. The war in Chade was beginning to swing in his favour due to the sheer number of mercenaries he was bringing in to deal with Drake’s pirates but Swift knew Kessick was not powerless and he had said himself
only a fool fights a war on two fronts
. It was possibly the most intelligent thing the Haarin had ever heard his client say.

Pern held the stone up in front of himself. It was a dull jade colour, no light from within and no imperfections that he could see. The stone remained cold despite the time in his hand, as if it refused to absorb his body’s heat.

“Pretty shit, huh,” Swift said with a yawn. “Kessick said somethin’ about it detecting potential. From what I can gather that’s got somethin’ ta do with magic. Ya got potential then ya can learn ta cast spells or some such bloody thing. Here, give it ta me.”

Pern handed the small gem stone to Swift and immediately noticed the difference. The stone glowed; a dim internal light shone forth highlighting the imperfections within the jewel.

“Fancy ain’t it,” Swift continued, moving the stone further from him and then back again to make it dim and glow in succession. “Seems the H’ost family had some of this potential in it from somewhere. My da’ passed it on down the line, gave it ta his children, gave it ta me. Reckon it’s what got the rest of ‘em killed, or took at least.”